


Counterpoise

by orphan_account



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Kid Fic, Psychological Horror, Supernatural Elements, really quite tame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:21:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22217716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "You can see them can't you?" murmured Jack, his gaze distant."The shadows. They're all over this place. I don't like it. They make my head feel funny."
Relationships: John Doe/Bruce Wayne, Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 2
Kudos: 64





	Counterpoise

**Author's Note:**

> babby's first fanfic be gentle.

*Tick-tock. Tick-tock.*

The clock on the wall was the only sound as Bruce peered through the open door.

In the middle of the carpeted room, a boy sat by himself, scribbling furiously with crayons. Page after page filled up with childish scrawls, brilliant streaks on paper creating indecipherable, amorphous shapes. The boy seemed oblivious to his presence. As Bruce approached slowly from behind, he heard muttering. "No, no. It has to be balanced. This isn't right. It has to be balanced."

Paper tore. There was more frantic scribbling.

"Hello." said Bruce nervously. "What are you doing?"

The boy looked up. Green hair and pale skin. "Odd." he thought to himself.

"Drawing." he said, resuming his frantic task. "What's it to you?"

"What are you drawing?" Bruce fiddled with his fingers. He looked closer, examining the patterns, but nothing made sense to him. Here, there was a purple whirlwind. There, bright green and red slashes juxtaposed against black . "None of your business." said the boy, engrossed in replicating what appeared to be remnants that a rainbow that had painfully crawled, heaved and gasped its last breath onto paper.

Bruce fiddled with his fingers.

"Well..What's your name?"

"...Jack. I think. I'm not sure." The boy shrugged, then resumed stabbing in angry red gashes.

"You're not sure?"

"I'm not sure of many things. It's why I'm here. Is that why you're here too?"

"I don't know." Bruce said frowning, looking around. There were a few worn children's figurines scattered around the room, an ancient tv set that buzzed static, and a rocking chair that appeared to have seen much better days. On the chair sat a lone teddy bear, its blue checkered shirt thread-bare, one button eye hanging by a thread. 

"I don't think I'm supposed to be here." 

"You wouldn't be here if there wasn't a reason. We've all got them." remarked the green haired boy. 

"I don't have one." Bruce insisted.

"There must be." said the boy. "Or else you wouldn't have come here."

Bruce furrowed his brows in confusion. "But I didn't." he started.

The boy shrugged. "My parents died."

Bruce blinked. "Mine too." slipped out before he could stop himself.

For the first time the boy paused. "Woah, that's cool." he gaped. "I mean.. not really..cool as in a good kind of cool..but it means we're sort of the same.. but not the same! Awww I'm ruining it aren't I?"

"It. It's..okay."

"Does that mean we can still be friends? I don't have any.." mumbled Jack, looking down.

"I guess I don't really have many friends either. I mean there was this boy called Oswald but he moved away."

"Then we are the same after all!"

****

The streets were silent, the flickering lamp posts the only light sources. Around his feet, a chill wind scattered leaves, trash and debris.

"You can see them can't you?" murmured Jack, his gaze distant. 

"Who's them?" asked Bruce.

"The shadows. They..they're all over this place. I don't like it. They make my head feel funny."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "You've got one behind you."

"Really?" gasped Jack.

"Yeah."

"You've got one too!"

Bruce frowned again, turning to look. "I don't see anything behind me."

"Well I don't see anything behind me either."

"You shouldn't tell stories." said Bruce disapprovingly.

"I'm NOT telling stories!" exclaimed Jack. "Why does everyone keep saying that?!" He wrung his hands in agitation. "Why won't YOU believe me either? You're my friend! Friends are supposed to believe one another! I..I can't." he stuttered, grasping the air before him.

"Calm down Jack." Bruce interjected, "calm down."

"WHY does everyone NOT believe me? Not even you!" Turning away, Jack stalked towards a nearby parked car. Determinedly, he raised a crowbar and began to methodically smash all the windows. Task complete, he walked down the street and began swinging viciously at the next car. 

"Jack. Stop!" commanded Bruce.

"I just..what? .... Okay. Stop." The green haired boy shrugged nonchalantly, tossing the crowbar aside.

****

The wind was strong and the night long, but as Bruce sat on the ledge of the skyscraper he felt no fear. Jack sat beside him, humming tunelessly, his pink slipper clad feet kicking in the breeze, his teddy tucked under one arm. Beneath them the city sprawled, buzzing like a great shimmering hive.

"What does my shadow look like?" ventured Bruce.

Jack paused for a moment, cocking his head at some space behind him. "It's sort of..uh. Big. And black. And shadowy." 

"Uh huh."

"It's got like, pointy ears.", he elaborated, gesticulating, as if framing the outline of the beast. "Like a monster. And it's got wings..but not the soft feathery ones that birds have. Oh I know, it's a bat!"

"That's weird huh..." Bruce chewed his lip. He gazed out upon the city streets, its jagged skyscrapers simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar.

"There is." he began. "..an underground cave on my family's lands. I fell into it by accident once. It so dark..and filled with bats. Lots and lots of them. They kept flying around my head making horrible noises, and for the longest time I just stood there, I couldn't move. It felt like forever."

Jack fidgeted, looking at him expectantly.

"I had never felt so alone." he whispered.

"Well..you don't have to be alone", said Jack, piping up. "I was alone too. I mean, aside from Mr Scruffy." he looked at the bear sadly. "but he doesn't talk much."

"Anyway, now you've got me." he continued. "I mean, we're friends right?"

"Yeah." nodded Bruce.

"Best friends!" Jack giggled. "Alright then, let's do this. Pinky swear!" he held out his little finger.

Bruce gave him a puzzled look. "Y'know, it's like, how you make a promise! Come on." Jack waggled his finger.

"Okay?" said Bruce, extending his own finger.

His companion giggled excitedly, interlocking their little fingers firmly. Bruce thought he could feel the other boy's hand trembling.

"Friends to the end." Jack declared with an air of finality. He was smiling so hard that Bruce wondered if it made his face hurt. "No human should be able to have a smile that wide" he thought to himself.

"..So can I call you Brucie? Bats? Batsy boy?...you don't like that? Hey, what's your favorite type of ice cream? Y'know I really like gummy bears, but we don't get that very often at the place I stay at.."

****

Sunlight beamed down from above, washing the carnival in a warm rosy hue. It should have been warm, but Bruce felt no heat, only the silent thrum of an unusual sensation, whirring and mechanical beneath his skin. Throngs of people walked to and fro, but their voices were soft and muted. Before him, the carousel turned, but the colors were bleached and faded like an old recording.

Jack sat on a bench next to Bruce, licking candy floss of his fingers. Bruce watched him, noticing that strings of the pink confection clung to the collar of the boy's grey cotton pajamas. He resisted the urge to reach up and pick it away.

"Okay, so what's my shadow like?" asked Jack suddenly.

Bruce paused. "That..that's really hard to describe."

"It's okay," said Jack. "I don't care if it looks like Dracula, Tony the Tiger or the damn Easter Bunny. Come on. You can tell me. Is it ugly? Is it scary? Is it weird or horrible? Does it have eight arms and five legs?"

Bruce stared for a moment. "No no, it's not like that. It...it's..dark and squiggly", he started. "..that's not right either." He watched in detached fascination as the shadow shifted, pulsated, spread out tendrils, then coalesced unto itself. It slithered around the boy's torso in serpentine fashion, each color melding into the next; kaleidoscopic and iridescent. "It should be terrifying" he thought vaguely to himself, "but it's not."

"Well?" Jack persisted, his head leaning to one side again. "Come on Brucie. At least tell me what color it is. Mr Scruffy wants to know too." he pouted. 

"I can't. It..It keeps changing." muttered Bruce. "It's changing all the time."

Jack seemed to reflect upon this. "..Cool!" came the pronouncement.

"If you say so."

Jack squirmed in his seat, shifting closer to Bruce. "What do you see in it?", he prodded. "Pretend that it's like..a test of some sort. What shapes can you see right now?"

"Umm...a face?" tried Bruce. "A monster with sharp teeth? A...clown?"

"Is it a funny kind of clown or a scary one?" Jack's eyes widened. "Most are pretty scary. I hate clowns. Mr Scruffy does too."

"Yeah me too. I guess." Bruce agreed. "..Why?"

Jack's brilliant green eyes seemed to widen even further. "When I was real little, I went into this house of horrors thing, and there were these real scary clowns in there. They had these big knives and huge red mouths! I thought they were gonna kill me! My dad laughed but it wasn’t funny. I had nightmares for weeks."

"No way!" Bruce exclaimed, but he could already feel the beginnings on a smile tugging on the corners of his lips.

****

“Jack, what is this place?” asked Bruce, gazing around him in amazement.

They stood in a clearing in the middle of a tranquil forest. In the center was a solitary tree, its branches sprouting glowing orbs with gold threads dangling from them. They pulsed and trembled with living energy. 

“It’s.. silence I guess.” said Jack. “I come here when the voices in my head become too loud.”

“It’s pretty. I like it.”

“I suppose it is.” Jack nodded. “The other kids used to say that I’m not supposed to like pretty things..because it’s like..Wrong. And stupid..and sissy. And then they'd laugh at me.” His expression turned dark. "They were always SO rude. Everyone was always rude to me."

“That..That’s not right.” tried Bruce awkwardly. “What’s there to fill in the blanks when there are so many ugly things in this world?”

“More ugliness?” Jack frowned. “Uh. That doesn’t make sense either. No no, then the picture wouldn’t be balanced. It has to be balanced.” he muttered. He started pacing up and down, hands fluttering by his sides. 

“What do you think those things are?” deflected Bruce, gesturing to the golden threads. “Hey Jack, c’mere.”

The boy stopped and squinted. Then purposefully he reached up and pulled off one of the orbs. The orb convulsed violently in his firm grip, then slowly faded, withered and crumbled.

“Aw. It died.” he pouted. “I did it again.” 

“I think you can’t grab it too hard Jack.” said Bruce. “Let me try.” Gingerly, he plucked one off, then set it in Jack’s palm.

The orb stilled for a second, then resumed it’s rhythmic pulse. Jack stared, then with the other hand cradled it gently and lifted it to his chest like it was the most precious thing in the world.

“Yeah. That’s for you.”

****

Bruce lay under the night sky, his green haired companion by his side. A faint breeze rustled the short grass, making the reeds dance around them. In the inky beyond the stars illuminated the way. Bruce realized then that he had no idea where he was, but for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Can I ask you something?" he queried.

"Yeah." came the nonchalant response.

"Why is your hair green?"

Jack turned to stare. "I don't know Brucie. Why is your hair black?"

Bruce didn't know what to say to that.

"Okay fine, I guess it might have had something to do with the..incident."

"What incident?" prodded Bruce, narrowing his eyes.

"...See, after my parents died, they took me to this weird place. Funny chemical kind of smell everywhere, lots of white coats. Some..doctor guy gave me a jab, said it was..'sperimental or something. Said that it would make me feel better. Turns out it didn't. Really. All it did was make my head fuzzy."

"That's what made you like that?" Bruce pressed on. Something itched at this back of his mind.

"I'm not sure. Could have been before or after. Maybe I was born like this?" Jack sighed, throwing his arms up. “Aw, I wish I could remember things!”

"Y'know what..never mind."

"Come to think of it," muttered Jack under his breath. "The doctor had black hair too, just like yours."

****

“What are you thinking?” said Bruce, interrupting Jack’s silent soliloquy. 

They were in the clearing again, sitting side by side. The tree swayed, and around them a faint golden mist swirled. “Were those flowers there before?” thought Bruce, glancing at the forest floor. 

“Come on?” Bruce prodded, trying to snap him out of his reverie.

“This place is way too pretty.” sniffed Jack. He started to frown again.

“What’s wrong with that?” asked Bruce.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Pretty things don’t last y’know...like flowers, like summer, like snowflakes when you catch them.” He folded his arms.

“I had a baby chick once.” he continued. “I won it at a fair. It was real pretty, and it was so, so soft... but it wouldn’t stop crying. All night and day, it wouldn’t stop. I thought it was sad and lonely, so I tried to hug and make it better...” He shook his head. “That didn’t end so well.”

“It stopped crying though.”

*****

"Jack, what are you doing?" asked Bruce, watching as his companion lifted shovel after shovel of dirt.

"Getting rid of useless things." came the clipped reply. More dirt came flying.

Bruce eyed the lifeless bodies lying in the ground. A man, a woman, a girl..a boy? He wasn't sure. Their faces were visible and yet unclear, as though someone had blurred out their features and drawn in smiley faces instead. He shook his head, but no detail of significance could register. 

"Who are those people?" he tried.

Jack shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I might have known once. It doesn't matter now." He continued, unflagging. The bodies were halfway covered.

Bruce sighed deeply; regarded him pensively for a moment. "Don't you want to keep them?"

"Why should I? They're never coming back."

"I'd want to keep mine."

****

The forest was on fire. Flames licked around his feet, filling the air with thick, noxious smog. As Bruce stumbled through the inferno, something drew his attention. Splashes of red. A crimson trail on leaf litter. Bruce followed, dreading what he might find.

****

He found him in the clearing, illuminated by moonlight.

A small figure stood under the orb tree, shoulders hunched and drawn towards himself. The itching sensation returned. Bruce tried to approach him, but his limbs felt like they were molten; his entire being seemingly mired in quicksand. Still onward he pushed, inching towards the shadow that threatened to envelop them both. As he pushed forward, it occurred to him that the shadow was now as big as a mountain and tall as the sky.

"Jack. What's all this?" Bruce demanded.

The figure did not reply. Slowly it turned around and then it was pointing upwards and a slow and horrifying realization dawned upon Bruce. The bright orbs were gone and in their places hung a multitude of bodies. Man, bird and beast alike; torn, ragged corpses decorated every branch. The tree itself had warped, the branches twisted in every direction, thorns radiating.

****

"Did you do this." said Bruce as evenly as he could. Around him, embers smoked, casting a faint eerie glow.

No response. Bruce fought down a rising tide of frustration.

"Why?" he continued.

The figure made as though to say something, and then came that infuriatingly nonchalant shrug again.

"Why not?" came a voice floating towards him. "Nothing stays forever." it spoke into his ear. "One day you'll go away too, just like them."

Bruce stood still and silent. The itching sensation intensified.

"I'm right aren't I?" crooned the voice.

It was no longer just his head. The itch crawled down his neck and into his skin, delving deeper. Deeper. Bruce felt himself trying to say something, but nothing came out.

"I knew it! They always go away!"

Bruce tried to close his eyes, but they wouldn't close. As he stood immobile the itch crawled right all the way down, as though grasping right through the core of his being. A sensation shook him, like nails down a chalkboard. He felt like an impossibly heavy weight had landed upon him and was crushing its way down.

Something snapped.

"Stop THIS!" he raged. "Whatever this is, it has to stop!" His own voice sounded foreign, like it was far away and belonged to someone else.

"The hell I will!" screamed the other voice. "You're going to go away, and leave me alone in here to rot forever!"

The Great Shadow swirled, and within it Bruce thought he saw a great gaping maw. And then the shadow was smiling at him, a smile full of teeth and daggers; of smoke and gunfire and ruby red lips.

"It should be terrifying." came the niggling thought at the back of his mind, but curiously it was not. It was beautiful as much it was horrible. Bruce wondered if he could reach out and grasp it.

The shadow giggled. "Would you stay here and play with me forever Brucie?" it taunted, tendrils zipping and weaving past his legs.

Bruce looked away. A glimmer of light, a feather light sensation. In periphery of his vision, a golden orb floated down, fragile threads ghosting against his cheek. He watched as the creature fell to the floor, and was swept up by the tempest around him.

It was then that realization dawned upon Bruce, and in one brief moment of clarity he knew what he had to do.

"Jack, listen!", he called out. "You and I both know that I can't stay here forever, but someday I'll come back for you."

"I don't believe you." accused the Great Shadow.

"You have to." he pleaded, reaching out. "Do it for me Jack. Please. Trust me."

"Trust me." came the echoes. "Trust me."

There was a pause then, a sudden shift in the reality of being, a butterfly soft sensation like floating, and with the power of sheer will Bruce pushed through the wall of shadow, grabbing the boy within into a fierce hug.

****

"..what?" said Jack.

Bruce gestured behind him. "Your shadow. It's gone."

"It will be back." Jack stated with an air of certainty. "It always comes back."

"I know." replied Bruce. "Mine too. But one day I'll be back, and my shadow will fight your shadow, so that neither one can grow big enough to destroy either one of us."

"You mean..like a balance?" mused Jack, eyeing him wistfully.

"Yeah. Kind of like that."

****

"You hear that Jack?..They're calling me. I've got to go." said Bruce, getting to his feet.

Jack's impossibly green eyes were hopeful. "You promise you'll come back?"

Bruce nodded. "Even if it takes years." he declared.

"...promise me Brucie?"

"I promise."

"Well then, you gotta pinkie swear on it." said Jack, holding out one hand, his little finger outstretched.

"..Huh. Okay." Bruce looked down, extending his own hand, and grasping the pale one proffered to him. "Pinkie swear." he affirmed.

The wind started blowing again, and in the distance, Bruce thought he heard someone calling his name. Sighing, he turned to the boy beside him. "I gotta go." he murmured, running a hand through wild green tresses.

"Behave yourself, Jack.” he called out. “Wait for me."

****

"What in the ever loving Hell?!"

Bruce sat quietly on the floor, legs tucked under his chin. Seldom had he ever heard his guardian that angry. Over the din of the hospital, Alfred's voice floated down the hallway. Something was shouted about "malpractice", "lawsuit" and "appalling" intermixed with the odd colorful curse word let slip. Bruce nodded to himself, only vaguely aware of his surroundings. Around him the world bustled, a jumble of light, sound and movement. He blinked lazily. The neon lights hurt his eyes. 

"What are you doing down there, Master Bruce?"

Bruce looked up, squinting in the directing of the voice.

"Come now, that's unseemly." said Alfred primly, hauling him to his feet. "I can't believe the nerve of them! Dispensing unapproved experimental drugs to children!.." He muttered, shaking his head grimly. "It's a good thing I caught that on time, or goodness knows what would've.." Alfred glanced down at his ward. "You should have told me about it sooner." 

"I'm fine Al." Bruce insisted.

"No sir, you most definitely are not. I am getting you a new therapist, and you are never touching that accursed substance ever again."

**** 

"..Nurse. Nurse? I think he said something."

There was a flurry of movement to the left.

"What, where am I..?" he mumbled, voice raspy from disuse.

"Call Dr Leland!" said the lady in white, turning towards him.

She stared for a moment, eyes widening momentarily.

"Hello," she began hesitantly. "My name is Jane. I'm your attending nurse, and I've been caring for you for the past five years."

"You're at the Elizabeth Arkham Asylum..and you've uh, not spoken a single word since your admission."

He coughed, a sound like more croaking.

"Do you know your name?"

He stared at her.

A glass of water was held to his his face. "Easy now," said the nurse.

A few moments later a small hand mirror materialized in his hands. "Perhaps this will help," said the nurse pleasantly.

He looked down, frowning. His hands were far too pale.

He held the mirror up in silent contemplation. Green eyes, pale skin. A shock of unruly green hair. The world start to sway around him, his pulse racing. There was a sensation like floating.

"There, there take it easy." He felt a hand on his back, patting. "Deep breaths," came a soothing, feminine voice.

For a long moment he did nothing, simply sat there in silence until his mind deemed it fit to descend back to earth. Finally he looked up, regarded the faded tiles, the starched sheets, the sickly sweet scent of bleach and disinfectant and the late afternoon sunlight filtering in through the blinds.

"I don't know that person." he said in a small voice.

**** 

Thus the nameless patient gained a new name, a new identity, and a new routine. 

Weeks turned into months, and months turned into years, the unfamiliar becoming familiar, and the strange becoming routinely mundane.

And on the loneliest nights as he tossed and turned on his small Arkham cot, he would squeeze his eyes shut and let his mind wander.

Sometimes he would see them; flashes of sound and fury, fragments of dreams, nightmares and everything in between, and on those rare occasions if he tried hard enough he would even see him. There he would be, a promise wrought of steel and gossamer, a rock amidst a turbulent sea; the figure of a boy with stormy blue eyes, hair as dark as night, and the shadow of the bat on his shoulders.

****

**Author's Note:**

> Concept inspired by a cute little indie game called Fran Bow. 
> 
> 15 Jan: minor dialogue rewrites and fixed an embarrassing mistake D:


End file.
